


Better that every fiber crack

by zinjadu



Series: Never Put Together Entirely [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Friendship/Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Purple Hawke, hawke tries to have feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 11:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: After Bartrand dies, Varric seeks some peace.  Marian tries to help.





	Better that every fiber crack

**Prompt 2: miscommunication, resolution, danger, friendship**

 

“Do you… want someone to… help?” Marian asked, not sure what the hell to do.  They had just killed Bartrand, no helping him out of his madness any other way, and Varric.  Varric, normally like her, a quick phrase, a sharp word, and everything back to normal.  But what the fuck was going back to normal after you had to kill your own brother to save him?

 

“No, Hawke,” Varric told her, shoulders curving forward, almost like defeat.  “Appreciate the thought, but… I should do this alone.”

 

“Alright,” she allowed, drawing out the word, watching him.  She wasn’t good at this.  Never had been.  Never knew what to say.  If Bethany were here, she’d know what to do, but Bethany was in the Gallows.  Merrill flitted closer to Varric, a hand on his shoulder, and he patted it gently, giving the girl a tired but grateful smile.

 

“I’m so sorry, Varric.  I’ll get you some flowers.  There’s lovely ones not far from here,” Merrill offered.

 

“Don’t trouble yourself, Daisy,” Varric told her.  “Bartrand wouldn’t want flowers.  He’d want stone, like a proper dwarf.”  There was a bitter twist to the words, and Marian wanted to do _something_.  _Anything_ other than stand there like a stupid lump, but she knew trying to say anything would be dangerous.  Nothing she had said after Carver died had helped.  It had only made it worse, blame heaped on blame, and she couldn’t stand the idea of Varric blaming her for this.

 

“I’ll see to it no one bothers you, Varric,” Aveline promised, and Varric dipped his head in acknowledgement of the gesture.  Then, without a sigh or a sound, Varric squared his broad shoulders and walked into the night, off to make some kind of arrangements, probably.

 

“Come on, Hawke, we should let him be,” Aveline said, strong hand on Marian’s shoulder, urging her away from the damned house.

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Merrill asked, eyes large and worried in her face. 

 

“It’s what he said he wanted,” Hawke said at last with a shrug.  “Not sure what else we can do.”

 

* * *

 

Varric sat in the pew, his head bowed.  He wasn’t praying, not exactly, but he’d never been much good at being a dwarf.  Bartrand would hate the idea that he was in the Chantry, especially now.  But everywhere else in Kirkwall was too loud, had too many people.  Here, here it was quiet, and he thought, maybe, he could find some kind of peace.  If only for a little while, before he had to deal with the estate, clean up Bartrand’s mess, and generally admit that he’d had to kill his own brother.

 

It wasn’t working.

 

Closing his eyes, he tried to listen to the sound of the Chant, not really caring about the words, but listening to the rhythm of it, trying to let it take him away from where he was.  But that was never going to work.  With a sigh, he opened his eyes and started to stand when he saw her there, at the end of the pew, looking at him with those impossibly blue eyes of hers. 

She’d followed him.

 

He wanted to yell at her, to leave him alone, that she’d gotten it all wrong.  He _didn’t want help_.  But the words never came.  Silently, she sat next to him, and he settled back down.  For a long drawn out moment, they simply sat, looking up at the imposing statue of Andraste, her hands held out in welcome to all who sought succor.  Then, Hawke closed her hand over his and squeezed.  Something about that cut him to the heart, a sharp pain in his chest that wasn’t only pain.  It was the knowledge that he wasn’t alone.  He turned his palm up, and lacing his fingers with hers, he squeezed back, an unspoken thank you.

 

And there they sat, in silence but together, full of words they didn’t know how to say.

 

* * *

 

She could do this. Really, she could. Just help a friend. Right. And don't say anything, Marian, she reminded herself. Because the second she opened her mouth, something sarcastic would have to come out. And that would be bad. Really bad.

 

Slipping in through the smaller, person-sized Chantry door, she tried not to draw attention to herself. Normally, she didn't mind swaggering around Kirkwall. It was kind of fun, really. But this wasn't about her. It was easy enough to find Varric. He was alone, a pew all to himself, and she got a look at him before he could see her.

 

Maker, he looked so lost. That wasn't right. Even in the Deep Roads, even after all the shit they'd been through, Varric hadn't been lost. Pissed off, certainly, but never lost.

 

Then he saw her, and for a second she'd thought she'd really fucked up by coming here at all, from the shock in his eyes and the bitter snarl on his lips. But just as quick, it was gone, replaced by that lost look. For once, it was easy to not say anything as she sat beside him, holding his hand. She squeezed, and after a moment, he squeezed back.

 

Because like hell he'd be lost alone.


End file.
